


Tough and Muddy

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Copious Cockles [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Jensen, Cockles Week, Fingerfucking, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Humor, M/M, POV Misha, Shower Sex, Teasing, Top Misha, tough mudder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was going to go with the guys, but then he got to his hotel room - and everything was so quiet, and he had just been so tired lately ... he felt compelled to skip it. It didn't really matter anyway. It was just a bunch of people playing in the mud. Misha could miss out on this one, crazy thing ... just this once. No one would miss him.<br/>
<br/>
<a href="http://s358.photobucket.com/user/worksbysenorajane/media/tumblr_nsdowlz15T1tiq7lqo1_540_zpsxmfy1dex.jpg.html"></a><img/><br/>
Art by:<a href="kawasemichan.tumblr.com/"> Kawasemichan</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough and Muddy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first contribution to Cockles Week 2015! I hope you all like a little dirty Jensen and even dirtier Misha!

          The knock comes at the _worst_ possible time. He had just started reading a good book, and his tea is _still_ piping hot; and whoever is at his hotel room door is probably someone he’ll have to chat with for _at least_ a few minutes—and then he’ll have to microwave his tea to heat it up again, but that always changes the taste somehow and … it’s _just_ _frustrating!_

          Another knock pounds away.

          “Hold on!” he shouts, trying not to sound irritated, but he thinks—he isn’t too successful. He abandons his book and takes a quick sip of his tea, just so he can taste its perfection at least _once_. As he sets it back down, his heart aches … he shouldn’t be _this_ emotionally attached to a good drink, but _he is_ and _it’s sad_.

_Damn, fucking door … damn person, ruining my tea—interrupting my book. Why? What do you want?_

          Another knock wales away.

          “ _I’m coming!”_ He finally shuffles to the door and opens it up—gasping at the sight that’s awaiting him.

          “Hey’ya, Mish!”

          Misha stares, hand still gripping the brass handle while his head cocks to the side with the weight of what he’s seeing.  Standing in the hallway, white teeth gleaming through dark, chapped lips— _is Jensen_ ; or what looks _remotely close_ to Jensen, but it’s hard to tell through the layers of dried and drying mud caked along the entirety of his body.

          “That was _fun_!” Jensen laughs, lifting up his hands to either side of the door frame. He leans himself forward and presses into Misha’s space. “You really missed out, man!”

          Misha looks up to where his friend’s palms are resting, watching as the dirt flakes off onto the pristine, white paint. His mouth is gaping a bit as his eyes travel back down the flexing, brown arms—melding seamlessly in with a crusted shirt. The “Kings of Con” logo is barely visible. _Jensen’s belt_ is barely visible. The individual strands of hair are lost in matted clumps on his head— _the man is_ _filthy._

          “ _Well_ , can I come in?”

          “Like _that_?” Misha sputters, taking a step back as Jensen straightens out.

          “Well, _yeah_. Unless this hotel has a hose hidden somewhere in the hallway.”

          Misha rolls his eyes. “Obviously it doesn’t; but why didn’t you just go back to your house and take a shower before you came over here?”

         Jensen chuckles, sounding nearly out of breath, and Misha thinks he can see some bags under the man’s eyes—barely peeking through the mud. “ _Are you kidding me?_ You think Danneel would let me in like _this_?”

          “So … you came _here_?” Misha squints, placing his hand on his hip and leaning further into the door. “What, you think _I_ want you tracking in dirt everywhere?”

          Jensen huffs and charges forward, making Misha stumble back to avoid touching the mud-monster that’s coming at him. “It’s a _hotel_ , man … it’s probably dirtier than I am anyway—you just need a black light to see it.”

          With a sigh, Misha closes the door behind them. “Thanks, that’s comforting.”

          “No problem!” Jensen laughs, reaching up to untie the bandana he has around his neck. Little clumps of dirt tumble down and onto the white rug.

          “ _Jesus!_ At least go into the bathroom before you start stripping!” the clean man barks, running into the small kitchen area to get some paper towels.

          “You’re leaving tomorrow, dude … and then they’re going to clean this room anyway. What do you care?”

          “I don’t want to be jumping over your _dirt mound_ all night! I care about _that_ … there’s a reason I didn’t do the _damn_ Mudder-thing. _One_ : I’m _old_ , and _two_ : I’m old and don’t want to jump around in the mud!”

          Jensen chuckles again, the wrinkles in his cheeks cracking off more flakes of sludge. Misha comes back to where he’s standing, crouching down to pick up the all the little marks his friend is leaving on the carpet.

          “You should have still come along. Like I said, it was _a lot_ of fun. Like … more fun than I’ve had in a while.”

          Misha looks up at his filth-covered friend, thinking he is even _less_ recognizable from this angle. “Yeah, well, I doubt you’ll think it’s all that fun in the morning. You’re probably going to be sore as hell.”

          “ _Probably_ ” Jensen agrees, reaching up to rub the back of his neck with the dirty bandana. More mud trickles down to replace what Misha had just cleaned.

          “ _Ah!_ ” he groans, finally straightening back up—listening to his knees crack along the way. “This is _pointless_. Go into the bathroom!” he demands, pointing across the room with a stern finger.

          Jensen scrunches his face at his friend’s outburst. “You really need to loosen up, Mish. Why are you so uptight right now?”

          Misha glances back over to his cup of tea on the table beside the recliner. The last remnants of steam are curling off the top, and his mind carries back to that one, _perfect_ sip. That one, perfect, uninterrupted by _children_ or _phone calls,_ or _e-mails_ or _twitter_ , or _life_ -sip. He gets angrier. “Go on! Take a shower! You’re a disgusting human being and you’re ruining my evening!”

          The laugh that follows his surge is too lighthearted and happy, and Misha’s stern face is forced to crack. But he quickly mends as a solid, mire ring shakes off Jensen’s body, circling the man in a makeshift, dirty-devil’s trap.

          “ _Go_!” Misha grumbles again, gesturing harder towards the bathroom.

          Jensen settles, finally opening a humor-filled stare at his grumpy co-star. Misha pauses in his rage because all the brown is making the man’s eyes glow neon and gold.

          “ _Aww_ , does someone need a hug?” Jensen pulls up and reaches out his arms, scraping off another stratum of grime.

          “No! Jensen! _Don’t you dare!_ ” Misha hisses, backing up, nearly tipping over a floor lamp with his scramble.

          “Come here, buddy! Give me a hug!”

          “Jen, if you touch me—I’m going to kick you in your fucking nuts!” Misha growls, turning around to run, but thick, strong arms are wrapping around him before he can make his getaway.

          “You wouldn’t do that … you _like_ them too much” Jensen purrs, bringing his filthy lips closer to Misha’s ear.

          “Jensen! _Stop it!_ ” He wriggles against his friend’s vises, but he can’t break free—and he feels the gritty muck rubbing off on his clothes, _his skin_ —dropping to the ground and mussing up everything. “You asshole! _Stop!”_

          Jensen only hugs him tighter. “I really wish you came along. I was looking forward to wrestling in the mud with you.”

          Misha struggles harder, but he feels his face heat up with the idea. “Well, it looks like you’re getting your wish anyway … so _let me go_!”

          A soft, wet tongue slides along the side of Misha’s neck—shocking him still with the contrast to the other grating sensations. He feels Jensen chuckle into his hair. “No, I _really_ wanted to get in the mud with you. It’s hard to tell _who_ is _who_ when everyone is _so_ dirty … imagine all the things we could have gotten away with. No one would have known it was us.”

          Misha finally stills completely—his pants tightening despite his frustration.

          “Plus, I would have loved to see what your eyes would have looked like …”

          Something hard presses into the tense curve of Misha’s ass.

          “They would have been _so blue_ …   _fuck_ , you know it would have driven me crazy.”

          Misha lets out an exacerbated laugh, trying to keep his composure, but the mix of Jensen’s hold and the heat billowing off his body is thoroughly wrecking him. “Is … _uh_ … is that why you were so pouty when I told you I wanted to skip it?”

          Jensen’s nose pushes into the back of his neck and Misha can feel the man breathe him in. “ _Yeah_ … I was really looking forward to it, man. I wanted you to be there.”

          He pats gently along the dirty arms he’s tangled in, finally releasing after another squeeze. Misha looks down at himself—his light grey t-shirt, now covered in dusty stripes. Another, deep breath chases away his bubbling frustration, because Jensen’s disappointment is still ringing in his ears. He turns to look at the man and as if on cue, Jensen’s eyes blink up at him, dive bombing his last hope of drinking his tea—and smothering all his care that it’s gone. There’s a new bit of perfection he’s itching to taste, and it doesn’t come with a string attached. “Get in the shower” he commands again, this time, much gentler than before.

          Jensen huffs, his shoulders sinking with the added displeasure. “Fine …”

          Misha smiles at him. “And get that water _really_ hot … you know I hate a luke-warm shower.”

          The bright, toothy grin he receives is almost blinding. In another moment, he’s looking at the muddy man disappear around the corner, making his way towards the bathroom. Misha leaves one last look to his abandoned tea before tip toeing over the dirt trail that Jensen has left behind.

          “A little help?” Jensen asks, turning back from starting the water just as Misha arrives at the bathroom door.

          “With?”

          “Getting these clothes off … they’re sort of _stuck_ _on_.”

          His eyes roll, but he can’t help but get excited at the thought of undressing his friend … it _does_ usually give him an overwhelming thrill— _a little mud shouldn’t change that_. Misha scoots closer, reaching out to let his fingers find the edge of Jensen’s shirt. It’s plastered against the man’s sides and glued to the fabric of his boxers—peeking out around his hips. With a subtle yank, the rigid cloth breaks free and Misha begins to work it over Jensen’s body. “Close your eyes, I don’t want to get dirt in them.”

          Jensen smiles at him, slightly more himself now that most of the mud on his face has chipped away—his eyes close and he lifts up his arms while Misha begins to pull the browned shirt off of him.

          Once it’s gone, Jensen’s skin is left with a slightly lighter imprint—framing his torso with the shirt’s memory. “That’s a nice farmer’s tan” Misha laughs, looking over Jensen’s shoulders.

          “Well, _I am_ a Texan.”

          “Yeah … but something tells me _this_ is as close as you’ll ever be to really _looking_ like one.”

          “ _Hey_! I’m Texan through and through” Jensen protests, but the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes call his bluff.

          Misha raises his brow at the half naked man in front of him. “You are about to take a shower with another _guy_ , Jensen. I think that would normally get you the death penalty around here.”

          Misha’s words are met with a mocking look. “Well … fine … _whatever_. Just help me with these pants.”

          “Gladly.” Misha smiles, reaching out to undo Jensen’s button. “And don’t feel too bad, Jen. There is _one part_ of you that truly upholds your _Longhorn_ pride.” He unzips his friend’s zipper and quickly fishes his fingers beneath the filthy fabric—pushing it down as his hands reach around to grip Jensen’s ass.

          The man’s muddy mouth curls with a pleased snarl. “Like I said … _Texan through and through_.”

          “I suppose I’ll just have to confirm that later” Misha chuckles.

          Jensen is soon leaning in to kiss him, gripping the waist band of his friend’s pants, but Misha lurches away.

          “ _Uh uh_ … your lips are just as dirty as the rest of you! Get soaped up and _then_ we’ll talk … or _make out_ … you know what I mean.”

          Jensen grins again, releasing his hold on Misha’s hips and backing up towards the shower. He shimmies out of the rest of his clothes before stepping into the pelting, hot stream. Misha laughs as the man hisses from the stinging heat. “I don’t know how your skin doesn’t melt off!” Jensen grumbles while frantically turning the knobs.

          “ _Aww_ , what’s wrong, Mr. Tough Texan Man? Can’t stand a little hot water?”

          Jensen’s head pops out from around the curtain, his hand pushing it back and leaving a muddy print along the folds. “Why don’t you come _in here_ and then we’ll see who’s the toughest out of the two of us?”

          His throat locks with the look he sees in Jensen’s eyes. _I’m going to pay for this._ “I’m not the ‘tough guy’ who usually ends up moaning with a dick inside him, Jensen.” The dirty hand dismisses the curtain and is quickly tangling into his shirt, yanking Misha forward and pulling him into the shower. He almost falls as he tries to lift his feet over the ledge. “ _I’m still dressed!”_ he yelps, but Jensen doesn’t seem to care, spinning him around and pushing him up against the shower wall—watching as the water soaks the man’s clothes—turning his grey shirt _black_ in a matter of seconds. Misha rubs his hand over his face, sputtering with the drops that are trying to drown him. “What the _hell_ , Jensen?”

          Jensen only grins before pushing his own face underneath the water, scrubbing away at it with his palms and emerging far cleaner than he just was. His pink lips shine with the wet—only dampened more as his tongue slides across them.

          All Misha’s annoyance is gone as he watches the man’s mouth dance—a number, seemingly choreographed just for _him_.

          “You weren’t going to kiss me while dirty … and it’s hard for me to kiss _you_ if you’re out there.”

          If he could nod or speak, _he would_ —but Jensen is still pinning him against the wall and all his strength seems to be smothered beneath his friend’s touch.

          A triumphant look spreads across Jensen’s face as it slowly streaks with the muddy water dripping down from his hair. “ _Now_ , are you going to help me get clean or am I just gonna have to get you dirtier?”

          Misha feels a hand move up underneath his soaked shirt, ascending with tickling fingers. He finally takes charge and begins to strip himself—feeling better as his naked skin is freed and capable of meeting the steamy water one on one. Jensen’s other hand is still on his hip, and as he looks down, he sees the man’s rigid cock pressing against his thigh. Misha shudders—lifting goosebumps across his own body, shivering more as the shower tries to beat them down again. As he raises his head once more, he’s met with hungry lips—pulling in his own to be attacked with bites and licks. Jensen pushes into him. His slick, dirty skin sliding and grating along Misha’s, but the feeling is _exhilarating_ , and makes him harden and ache with the need to feel _more_.

          “ _So_ , you gonna help me get clean?” Jensen whispers after finally pulling away to breathe.

          Misha laughs, a little more composed now that he’s being driven by the carnal. “I don’t think all the churches in Texas could do that, Jensen.”

          “ _Fuck you_ ” the muddy man sputters, snuffing out Misha’s snark with another kiss.

          Misha breaks away again. “Other way around, _darling_.”

          Jensen can only roll his eyes.

          Misha chuckles, a little lost in how the steam is making the greens glow. “Okay, _okay_. Hand me the body wash … I know that there is a man somewhere underneath all this dirt, and I’d like to find him—so I can dirty him up in _other_ ways.”

          Jensen turns and grabs the bottle of body wash, quickly coming round to hand it to Misha. “Yeah, all the churches in Texas may not be able to cleanse _me_ , but _God himself_ would be at a loss with _you_.”

          “Well, that’s _your_ god. There could be _multiple_ —male, female, _genderless_ … some that aren’t even in human form. I mean, _who knows_ what they would be capable of cleans—”

          “ _Oh for the love of_ … will you just get to scrubbin’, Mish?”

          Misha huffs, playing up his offense. “Fine! I’m just trying to open up that _narrowed_ , Texas mind of yours … _excuse me!”_

          “Well, if you don’t get a move on … that’s about the _only_ thing you’ll be opening up tonight.”

          Misha doesn’t hesitate in clicking open the bottle and squeezing out a large dollop of soap into his palm. In another moment, the bottle is sitting back on the ledge of the tub and his hands are gliding over Jensen’s chest. The creamy, white wash is soon turning brown as it mixes with the dirt, but the water is quickly rinsing it all away—leaving nothing but perfect, freckled skin in its wake. At first, he scrubs hard—pressing his fingers in to scratch off the particularly stubborn clumps … but Jensen’s muscles move and twitch beneath his nails—flexing against his palm—and his touch softens. His friend shifts his weight, dancing beneath the water, letting it slide around his neck and down until it’s rippling across the soft curve of his stomach. Misha lets his hands follow the current, not able to blink as more perfect skin peeks through. He breathes in deep, locking the air in his chest once he’s filled—feeling more of Jensen’s body and losing all notice of anything else. Misha slides his thumbs over the wide points of the man’s hips, finally breathing out little by little as the dirt flicks away.

          “You okay, Mish?” Jensen asks around a small chuckle.

          But Misha can’t break his gaze from the lines and angles, all glinting and shining—just waiting for him to look closer. His hands soon glide back up to Jensen’s shoulders, gripping them hard, simply just to feel the strength inside. Misha’s eyes follow, but take their time to work up Jensen’s body. The gradating mud has faded—leaving the old, loved hues behind. He finally meets up once more with his friend’s face—now softened with lust and wonder at what the blue eyed man will do next. Misha steps in closer, looking over as his hand travels down the hills of Jensen’s arm. Finger tips caress each line slowly—seeming to listen, _taste_ and look upon the contours as if on an expedition. He leans in, making Jensen shift back and causing another rush of water to haste over his shoulder, drowning Misha’s distal explorers; but the sheen makes the landscape even _more_ attractive. His thumb reaches around and slides across Jensen’s bicep—in awe of its girth and power.

          “ _Beautiful_ ” Misha whispers, moving his palm down a bit more to a new expanse of the man’s arm.

          Jensen’s skin flushes pink. “ _C’mon_ , Mish” he chides, but Misha can hear the pleasure in his voice.

          “ _You are_ , Jensen. Washing away all this mud—it’s like unwrapping a present.” He glances up in time to see the man roll his eyes, but the burn in his cheeks makes the water seem like ice. “I just don’t understand how I got so lucky.”

          Jensen rolls his sights back to him—the flush fading away as a seriousness replaces it. “Because you’re _you_ … it’s not luck, Mish …” He raises his hands up to hold Misha’s arms, pushing him gently against the shower wall once more. “You … you’re _amazing_.”

          The kisses that follow are deep—filled with _more_ than the lust that first pulled them beneath the water. The rest of the mud soon floats down the drain, leaving the scent of soap and shampoo in its place. Their lips never seemed to separate as the lather foamed and the suds slipped.

          “ _Fuck_ , Mish … I don’t want to wait anymore” Jensen finally gasps in the midst of another battle of their tongues.

          Misha grins wickedly, lettings his fingers drop down and pull at Jensen’s ass. “Is impatience another attribute of being a Texan? _If so_ , I’m starting to see the resemblance.”

          Jensen’s eyes narrow just before a hand slithers between their bodies, gripping Misha’s cock. The dark haired man gasps and his knees go weak as Jensen begins to stroke him. “ _What was that_ , Mr. Smart Ass?”

          Misha closes his eyes—sinking into the bliss of his friend’s touch. “I—I, _uh_ … _mm_ …”

          “That’s what I thought” Jensen laughs, slowing down his pace and loosening his grip.

          His vision clears and Misha is able to look at the cocky, freckled man wrapped in his arms once more. “You know, _two_ can play this game, Jen …” With that, Misha brings his hand back up to his own mouth, pressing a few fingers passed his lips and slicking them with his tongue. He smiles around his knuckles as he hears Jensen’s breath hitch in his throat. His hooded eyes peek back up at his friend -- finally pulling his fingers free and moving his hand around again to the cleft of Jensen’s ass. Misha practically lifts the man as he spreads him apart—pushing the tip of one, slick finger inside, making small circles to open Jensen up.

          Jensen’s head falls to Misha’s shoulder as he moans, repositioning his arms around the man’s back to keep himself standing as talented hands wreck him.

          Misha lets a second finger push inside Jensen’s tightened body—and his own cock leaks with anticipation—remembering the feeling of this beautiful man around him, _riding him,_ falling apart on top of him. _Oh fuck … fuck he feels so good._ A deep breath soon follows to calm himself down … he doesn’t need to be letting loose all over Jensen’s hip before he even gets the chance to thrust into him again.

          “ _Fuck_ , Mish!” Jensen moans, turning his head to bite Misha’s shoulder.

          The sensation electrifies him—jolting his hand into hyper-drive, making him pump into his friend _hard_ er, adding a third finger seamlessly between thrusts. He tightens his hold onto Jensen’s body as the man liquefies in his arms.

          “Mish! I’m gonna … _fuck_!”

          Misha feels Jensen shudder and throb against him—soft muscles tightening around his fingers as he pushes them in with more power. “That’s it, Jen … _come for me_.”

          Hot streams fill up the small space between their suctioned skin, making them dirtier than all the mud in the state could. Misha finally slips his hand free to lock his arms across Jensen’s back to keep the man from falling. Little whimpers escape his friend’s lips and tickle his ear. “You okay?” he asks as he feels Jensen calm and start to regain control of his own muscles.

          Jensen nods against his shoulder, twisting his neck around to kiss Misha’s—and Misha can feel the man’s smile on his skin. “ _More_ than.”

          “Good … then turn around.”

          The growl in Misha’s voice causes a new set of shivers to rush across Jensen’s flesh. “Yes, _sir_.”

          The moniker melts his mind, leaving only animal instinct and _need_ in charge of his actions. He pushes Jensen back—eyes wide and darkened with hunger. Jensen’s lips fall apart as he stares into Misha’s face—strangled breaths tumbling over his teeth. He _knows_ what comes next.  Misha whips him around, freezing a moment at the sight of Jensen’s broad back, wet and slick from the water. His hunger deepens. Eager hands shoot out and grapple for Jensen’s hips, pulling them back—making the man bend forward and brace himself against the shower wall. Misha’s palm is quickly slathered in his own saliva, which is soon slicking across his throbbing, needy cock. He lines his tip up with Jensen’s opened hole—a sight that makes him have to bite his own cheek to stave off the desire to go ahead and coat that hole with his come. Another inhale, and he moves forward, feeling the man wrap around him as he slides into his depths.

          “Oh, fuck … _God damn_ , Jensen!” he hisses, tossing his head back as his cock inches in.

          An impish chuckle fills the small room, and Misha looks over just in time to see Jensen looking back— _evil_ dancing in his eyes. His friend’s body tightens and his arms flex—and soon, he’s hammering _hard_ against Misha’s waist. Blue drowns in a sea of white as Misha gasps and tries to keep his footing. Heat fills his body, and genetics tells him to _thrust_. He straightens out, digging his nails into the giving skin along Jensen’s middle. He lifts his foot onto the edge of the tub to give himself more traction … and he wrenches the man against him again.

          It’s Jensen’s turn to dissolve atop the ceramic surface—trying hard to grasp onto _something_ , but the smooth tile doesn’t allow for such an act. Misha doesn’t relent, smacking against his friend’s skin over and over, feeling every bit the rippled wall inside him and grunting— _moaning_ as each pass brings him dangerously close to the edge. Jensen reaches back, holding on to Misha’s hand as it tears into his hip. “Shit … Mish, _Mish_ … _yes_ … _please!_ ”

          It’s all Misha needs to hear. With another rock of his hips, he presses one last time into Jensen’s body— _hard and deep_ , finally falling over the broad, freckled back as he fills his friend up. He feels Jensen twitch beneath him—gasping with his second release. Misha’s breath shakes in his throat as he pulls his hands up to stroke Jensen’s sides, feeling each rib and tensed muscle, tracing each curve, and _loving_ every inch that is now freed from the mud that once encased the man. Misha begins to giggle, delirious in the aftermath of everything. The steam tickles his nose as it scrunches up—his humor building with each  passing second of wasted water.

          “Wh—what’s so funny?” Jensen wheezes, still recovering from Misha’s attack.

          Misha curls his arms around his friend, holding tighter as they straighten out their bodies. Jensen clasps his hands over the tan ones gripping him—pushing in closer as Misha lays kisses between his shoulder blades. “I just think … after _all that_ —neither one of us is tough enough for Texas.”

          Jensen laughs, leaning his head back and closing his eyes—tangling with his friend as much as possible. “If it means we get to do _that_ … I could give a fuck.”

* * *

 

           A guttural groan wakes him up.

           “ _Owww_!”

           Misha looks over to see Jensen, face down in the pillows, stiff as a board. He smiles to himself, loving the sight of his best friend, _naked_ , and only covered by a thin sheet. “You okay?”

           “ _Sooore_!” Jensen moans, still unmoving beside him.

           “I told you you would be” Misha laughs, reaching over to rub softly along Jensen’s shoulders.

           “Asprin!”

           “Yes … _I have some_. Do you want me to get it?” Misha asks, playing up his fatherly voice and choking back the desire to tell Jensen to _use his words._

           Jensen manages to lift his head just enough to give Misha an evil eye. “Yes … _please_ ” he hisses, just before face planting once more into the pillow.

           “Okay, _okay_. I’ll be right back.” Misha tosses the covers aside and presses his feet to the ground, taking a moment to wake up a little more before trying to stand. Once up, he finds _he’s_ a little sore too … but the _good kind_ of sore—the sore he always feels whenever Jensen manages to get him alone. A smile creeps across his lips. _Damn, I’m lucky._ He moves over to his duffle bag and fishes out some sweat pants, pulling them over himself after another moment and heading towards the bedroom door. He stops, turning back to look at the man in his bed—who still hasn’t moved an inch and probably won’t for the rest of the morning. “Do you want some tea too?”

           “ _Coffee_ , please” Jensen groans pathetically.

           Misha laughs. “Okay, _coffee_ … and, I just started reading a good book. Would you like me to read it to you?” Another moment passes before he sees the man nod stiffly. “Okay … I’ll be right back.”

           Fifteen minutes creep by amidst pleasant hums and warm aromas of peppermint tea and freshly ground beans. Misha tip toes steadily over the mud trail that is has dried and embedded itself into his hotel room carpet; but the sight doesn’t bother him now—the trail leads back to something _well worth_ the mess. He pads into the room once more, taking extra care not to spill the two mugs he has clasped in his hands. Once they’re set on the nightstand, Misha crawls back into bed with his best friend—a soft smile gracing his lips and a hard cover book tucked under his arm.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for even more Cockles Week fics! I also have other Cockles and Destiel stories on the rest of my Ao3.
> 
> Check out my tumblr at [castiel-left-his-mark-on-me](castiel-left-his-mark-on-me.tumblr.com)
> 
> If any of you out there are artistic and want to create some art for this fic, I would LOVE to see it! I would also happily make it the banner for this story and post it on my blog, with full credits to you of course!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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